i know you're hurting (but so am i)
by 3rdgymbros
Summary: With a heavy sigh, Law holds the small hand against his face, thin and banded with muscles and calluses, maneuvering the IV tubing out of the way. The rhythm of the monitors fills the silence.


**A/N:** Guess who got back into LawLu? ( _This_ girl!) This quick little drabble is set post-Marineford. It's my first time writing for these two boys, so I apologise if anything's terribly OOC. Comments, subs, and favorites are appreciated! Happy reading!

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Pale blue light filters in through the windows. There are still deep shadows cast over the room, but the ocean provides Law with enough light to see the bloodied surgical instruments, rolls of bandages, and his white laboratory coat slumped nervelessly over the back of a chair, where Law had dropped it two hours before, on his last round in the infirmary.

Thirteen hours of surgery later, and he's managed to repair the extensive damage to Strawhat's organs, coaxing body cells into repairing torn and blotchy muscle fibres, the scrapes and abrasions suffered. The wide, gaping wound in his chest, which had managed to shock even _him_ , when Law had first seen the boy, bloodied and unconscious on the operating table, had been knitted back together, using a mix of old-fashioned stitching and his Devil Fruit's powers. Carefully, Law slips into the chair by Strawhat's bedside, casting a careful eye over the younger boy's sleeping form.

He looks small, and almost _peaceful_ propped flat on his back, the worst of his injuries hidden neatly under a light blanket. His face, pale and wan, is turned towards Law, one cheek pressed into the pillow. If it isn't for the bandages and gauze covering every inch of Strawhat's skin, or the blood-soaked hair that sticks up in black spikes, Law might almost be able to fool himself into thinking that Strawhat's merely sound asleep, that he'll wake up any minute with that warm, infectious smile that had had given Law the oddest longing to be on the receiving end of one.

But no one in their right mind would fall asleep in a cold intensive care unit that reeks of antiseptic and copper. Worst of all, Strawhat isn't soundly sleeping. He's in a coma.

A stream of hot bile slides up Law's oesophagus and scorches the back of his throat. His mind flashes back, a lifetime ago, to a town and a family that no longer exist.

The last time Law had stood vigil at someone's bedside, he'd been in a sterile room similar to this. But it had been his _sister_ lying in the bed. Law remembers holding onto her hand like a lifeline, as though it was _him_ dying, instead of her. He remembers brushing aside sweat-damp hair, trying to ignore how her every cry, her every whimper was a punch to the gut. He remembers seeing the white fleck her skin, how the smile and the life had been drained from her, until only pure anguish and nothing but an empty darkness haunted her eyes. She'd been bright, and full of life, and seeing Lami still and lifeless, curled up in a hospital bed that was four times too big for her had effectively shattered Law's heart.

It was like closing a curtain over a mirror when she'd died. Her light had been extinguished. Then, there was nothing but darkness. His world went dark too. _Too young, too soon. It should have been him._ Not his sister, who was pure and innocent, and heaven called her by her first name.

" _Ace."_

His voice is frail, barely above a whisper, but the magnitude of the pain and the heartache lacing it is unmistakable. Law freezes, watching Strawhat shift about weakly under the covers, his hands grabbing restlessly, trying to hold onto a sibling who isn't there anymore.

"Strawhat?" Law asks carefully, professional poker face back in place, "Are you awake?"

"Ace," Strawhat says again, his voice thick with unreleased sobs. His voice is breaking apart at the seams, refusing to put itself back together. _"Ace._ Don't leave me alone . . ."

Strawhat's hand still gropes aimlessly about the sheets, the beginnings of tears turning thickly-lashed eyes damp. He mumbles his brother's name again, his voice low and broken. A trembling hand closes around his, and while Law would normally smack the offending appendage away, there's something infinitely heartbreaking about the gesture. A solitary tear trickles down a pale cheek. The death grip around Law's hand tightens.

With a heavy sigh, Law holds the small hand against his face, thin and banded with muscles and calluses, manoeuvring the IV tubing out of the way. The rhythm of the monitors fills the silence.

 _Really, Strawhat . . . You're such a troublesome patient._


End file.
